Chapter xx. The Green Flag.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Germaine, on your power of painting in words. Your description gives me a vivid idea of Mrs. Van Brandt.”
“Does the portrait please you, Miss Dunross?”
“May I speak as plainly as usual?”
“Certainly!”
“Well, then, plainly, I don’t like your Mrs. Van Brandt.”
Ten days had passed; and thus far Miss Dunross had made her way into my confidence already!
By what means had she induced me to trust her with those secret and sacred sorrows of my life which I had hitherto kept for my mother’s ear alone? I can easily recall the rapid and subtle manner in which her sympathies twined themselves round mine; but I fail entirely to trace the infinite gradations of approach by which she surprised and conquered my habitual reserve. The strongest infl
